The Mare

Velvet

We went with the horse to a fenced circle. Pat told me his name was Jimbo, and that he was only a year old. She told me to stay outside the fence and then she went in and took Jimbo off the leash. She stopped talking to me and started talking to Jimbo. I couldn’t pay attention to her, I just watched the horse. I could see he was a baby, not just for being small, he moved like a little kid. She made him come to her by walking away, and then if he moved away from her, she raised her arms and walked at him swinging the leash, like she wanted him away. Once when he wouldn’t come, she came to the fence where I was and crouched down. I said, What are you doing? She said, Shhh and told me to get down too. The baby horse just looked at us. We waited. And then he came. He came up to Pat and put his nose near her. She told him he was good. I wished he would put his nose on me, but Pat got up and clipped the leash back on him.

When we took him back in the barn, I asked her why Fugly Girl had that name. She said, “It’s not really her name, it’s just what the girls call her. Because her head is a little too big for her body.”

People said my head was too big too. This girl I hate calls me “Flat-Ass Fathead” and “Velveeta Cheese.”

“Her ear too — one of ’em looks like somebody might’ve twisted it.”

“What’s her real name?”

“Funny Girl. Which doesn’t suit her.”

I agreed, it did not.

“Not much funny about the mare’s background. She’s an Appendix quarter horse — that’s a quarter horse — thoroughbred mix — but I don’t know the mix on her, and I can see both in how she’s put together. Her last owners — or rather, the owners before last — brought her up from down south, where she was bush-track racing.”

“What’s that?”

“Rough-type racing, basically to train jockeys. Hardly any rules. People get hurt all the time.”

“She ran races?”

“Back in the day.”

“Can I ride her?”

“No one rides that horse. Remember the sign? It’s there for a reason. Don’t even touch that horse.”

I thought, I already touched her. She already touched me. And you saw it.

Pat showed me the horse I would ride; she was just plain white and a little fat. But she was nice. Her name was Reesa. Pat put a halter on her face and brought her out of her cage — her stall — and “cross-tied” her, that meant she was tied by her face to both walls. And then she gave me a brush to clean her with. I brushed her whole hard body; Pat showed me the place on her back where she specially liked it, and I did it there a lot. Then we put the saddle on her; when I strapped it on with this thing called a “girth,” Reesa puffed out her stomach like to push it away, but Pat said it was okay. Then Pat put a helmet on my head, meaning my head might break, and I got scared. But she gave me the end of the leash (the “lead rope”) and I had to lead Reesa out into the circle. In the circle there was a wooden step-thing called a “mounting block,” and Pat put it next to Reesa. “Okay,” she said. “Ready?”

I stood still and breathed. Pat waited. Reesa waited. I climbed up on the top step and put my hand on her. “Keep the reins in your left hand. That’s your control,” said Pat. “But take hold of her mane with the same hand — it’s okay, you won’t hurt her — and slip your left foot in the stirrup.” I took the mane; Reesa seemed like she was saying, It’s okay, but I was scared. “Go on,” said Pat. “Foot in the stirrup, take hold of that saddle, and get on your horse!” So I held the saddle and swung my leg and then I was on top of her. And then I felt her. I felt her say things, deep things; mostly I felt that she was strong, that she didn’t have to let me on her, or do anything I told her. But she did and she would.

“She accepts you,” said Pat. “She doesn’t care who you are, how much money you have, where you’re from. She accepts you.”

I thought, I know.

“She can feel your head move; she can feel your stomach tense or relax. Her skin is so sensitive she can feel a mosquito land on her before it bites. To make her move, you tap with your calves, you don’t kick. Kicking her is like screaming at her, and you don’t need to do that. She can hear you.”

I smiled so hard it made tears come. Pat just kept talking. With my legs, I asked Reesa to go. And she did.